Devotion
by Gracie Emz
Summary: The world's only consulting detective and the Naval Criminal Investigative Service come together to solve the double murder of a US Marine and a MI6 Agent in Washington DC. With the help of Sherlock's companion, Dr John Watson and the reluctant co-operation of Gibbs and his team, they observe for evidence and solve how Irene Adler, who's supposedly dead, is involved.
1. Mycroft Calls

Chapter 1 - Mycroft Calls

A tall, pale curly-haired man twitched back the netting and peered thoughtfully through his window overlooking Baker Street and the surrounding gloomy London landscape. The air outside was thick with dark clouds, fog and the noise of the tiring traffic that emitted from the city. He watched people go bustling down the street under umbrellas and wrapped in raincoats as they charge to their destinations in the light drizzle. He frowned at the on-moving crowd. "I wonder what it's like in their heads?" thought Mr Holmes, "It must be extremely dull, with their minds filled with complete and utter rubbish." He looked around his flat, 221b, and then decided to compare his home to what he thought was the average household- 3 bed detached suburban home filled with worthless junk, gadgets and souvenirs. He glanced at the yellow graffiti smiley face filled with bullet holes on the brown, textured wall and then at two mismatched armchairs next to the fireplace. He then did, without delay, observe the open plan living and kitchen area more closely. The yellowing skull and the knife stuck above the fire on the mantelpiece; the never-used walking stick in the corner of the room; the messy, chaotic desks covered in scrap paper, photographs, clues and electrical devices; the loaded handgun on top of small table next to the large, leather couch; the door leading to his tidy, well-kept bedroom and finally to the chemistry equipment scattered across the kitchen table with the occasional plate, saucer or tea cup amongst the test tubes. He concluded that he wouldn't like to live a dismal, ordinary life and so went back to the window and continued to gaze out of it.

He gave a small acknowledgement of awareness a few minutes later, as he saw the friendly, easily recognisable face he was waiting for, for the past hour. This short, blond haired man Sherlock had spotted got out of a black city cab holding three full carrier bags of food and carried his shopping towards the tall man's abode. Holmes picked up his most cherished item that leaned against the desk chair and started playing a slow, gentle tune on the violin, just as he heard a click in the keyhole of the door.

Sherlock was still in his t-shirt and his Pyjamas trousers that were clearly well slept in for more than a few days. Because no cases cropped up across Sherlock's path for the past couple of weeks, he was starting to get restless and irritable for what seemed to him, like a never-ending nightmare of boredom. When he heard a cheery whistle from his only companion as the blond man started his ascent of the stairs to the flat, Sherlock's music started to show his intolerable exasperation towards the sound, with the notes being played more vigorously at every step. What annoyed Sherlock was the fact that John was calm and peaceful about their present situation. John didn't seemed to get frustrated like Sherlock did whenever there was a long, menial break between cases, and instead chose to do ordinary things like the shopping and cleaning or spend his evenings dating numerous amount of women instead of prowling the streets with him, looking for evidence and suspects. This wound up Sherlock constantly, causing him to in return annoy John by having a tantrum, throwing stuff around the room, or shooting the wall at three o'clock in the morning. Once John stumbled through the front door to the flat laden with bags, Sherlock reached the climatic end to his fierce performance and turned around to face him. He scanned over John, who was clearly exhausted from his long trip, then frowned.

"What took you so long?" asked Sherlock, his baritone voice slightly angered from his impatient wait. John ignored his question and the tone of his voice as he sorted the bags.

"Still no cases then?" he responded as he caught the sight of the night clothes Sherlock was still in.

"I would have text you if anything came up. Stop ignoring my question!" John slightly shook his head and sighed.

"The traffic was murder. Nearly blocked up all over the city. That's why I was ages."

"It's like that everyday. There's something else. Your face is giving it away," retorted Sherlock as he put down his violin and bow and paced over, inspecting John's body language. John hid his eyes from Sherlock and tried to block his best friend's glare that seemed to burn against his forehead for a few silent moments before he gave in.

"Fine. I was late because of your brother. Happy now?" replied John, reluctantly as he walked over to the kitchen.

Sherlock pulled a face of disgust. Mycroft was what he thought was his only arch enemy before Moriarty arrived on the scene last year. He stomped over towards his chair, as his long, silk dressing gown swished behind him and then sulkily slumped into the armchair's cushions.

"What does that pompous idiot want now?" John sieved through the bags and put food into the cupboards while he talked.

"Nothing much. He wondered if you were alright-"

"He's in the government. There's no need to ask."

"Asked if you were home-"

"Stop lying."

"He also asked if you were busy. He sounded concerned."

"Why would he care?"

"Because I need to talk to you, dear brother." Mycroft stood in the open doorway, wearing a deep frown on his face, whilst he tightly clutched his damp umbrella in his right hand. It was obvious he had been stood there for some time. Sherlock abruptedly turned to face him and wore a blank expression on his face, however in his mind; he was shocked that his brother managed to sneak up the stairs without alerting his senses. John stopped sorting the shopping and looked up, relieved that he didn't have to explain, and walked over to the living area. Sherlock sat up in his chair.

"What do you want?" he spat across the room as if there was something foul in his mouth.

"Sherlock," expressed Mycroft with a sigh as he stepped forward into the room, "I wouldn't be here unless it something that had to do with you or someone you clearly respect-"

"I haven't done anything wrong," interrupted Sherlock angrily as he stood up, "So you can quit the lecture and get _out_." Mycroft examined his shoes for second then stared at his brother with apprehension.

"I know you haven't. Well, nothing that is illegal." Sherlock scowled at Mycroft's last remark, while Mycroft walked of his brother's view. When Sherlock could think of nothing to say, he spun around to face his brother yet again and remarked with a smirk, "How's the diet?"

"However," answered Mycroft gravely, ignoring Sherlock's latest insult, "I _need_ you to solve a matter of the utmost importance."

The elder Mr Holmes sat into the opposite armchair and propped his moist umbrella next to the fire, whilst John awkwardly filled the kettle to boil. Sherlock continued to glower at his brother with sincere repulsion. In his mind, he was trying to think how anyone he knew was in any trouble. When he came to no assumption, Sherlock settled back into his seat and murmured, "Who's involved?"

"An agent went missing in Washington DC-"

"No. I am not trekking across the world to look for a lost pet that holds vital credentials to our government again."

"Sherlock," groaned John as he handed Sherlock and Mycroft tea, "You might want to listen to this."

"Why should I listen to him explain a petty excuse of a mission he wants me complete because he's too lazy and incompetent to do it himself?" spluttered Sherlock, which created an unbearable tension in the room. John sipped his tea quietly, as he hid his gun from Sherlock and Mycroft's sight then lent against the mantelpiece. Mycroft covered his face with his hand, as he established a way to explain Sherlock some rather, unexplainable news.

"Before we lost contact with this particular agent, he went undercover to investigate a British terrorist that had recently cropped up in the Washington area in America."

"Moriarty?" Sherlock's expression was blank as though he did not care for that evil consultant criminal. Although both John and Mycroft saw the panic and fear in his bright, blue eyes. John shook his head.

"No," resolved Mycroft, as Sherlock felt relieved and felt the fear drifted out of his system. "It was an old foe. He hasn't done anything for the past decade, though he always seems to get out of our grasp. However, he's not my concern at this precise moment.

The agent, whilst undercover, had to break into a hotel room to find evidence to convict him. However, before he could even open the door, he messaged a photo from his phone of what he saw coming out of the corresponding room down the corridor." John shifted sheepishly next to the fireplace as he sipped his tea. Sherlock glanced at John's reaction, figuring out who or what was missing from the conversation.

"After he sent the image," Mycroft continued before Sherlock could again interrupt, "he went after the people that consisted in the photograph. In spite of careful planning and cooperation, we lost both our communication with the MI6 agent and the suspects half an hour later." John coughed slightly before he went to the kitchen to refill his cup with steaming tea. Once he came back, silence filled the room, as the cogs in Sherlock's brain were revolving at a quick pace.

"Well," said Sherlock, as he spoke his thoughts aloud, his eyes closed with concentration, "It's obviously someone important and outlawed, someone that I know who escapes the government easily without a trace and with a large amount of experience. Possibly someone who-"

He paused in his tracks as he stopped recalling images of people he came to know over his short life. He could now see the full picture without any mist or grime blocking his sight through the window. He opened his eyes while a glimmer of realisation dawned on his face. "Both Mycroft and John have found out the truth," he thought as he saw his deduction in his mind's eye. Sherlock quickly made his face appear vacant again before his brother and friend understood his judgement then turned to Mycroft innocently and asked, "May I see the photo?"

Mycroft warily put his right hand in his damp coat pocket and pulled out his phone. After he unlocked the contraption and pressed a few buttons, he handed over the device to Sherlock's long, out-stretched fingers. Sherlock tilted the screen to his eye view and read the image, which confirmed his suspicions. The photograph was of a tall, dark, man with a military stance, his uniform consistent of a US Marine, who was holding hands with a sensual but professionally dressed female. Even though her pale face was partially hidden from view, it was still effortlessly recognisable to Sherlock, making his heart and stomach lurch with unstoppable adrenaline. The dark, wavy, brunette hair, her clear complexion, her rouge lips which had brushed lightly against Sherlock's cheek sometime ago and the twinkling spark in her eyes that he had stared into deeply on more than one occasion.

"She was thought to have died a couple of months ago," explained John, uncomfortable with the look on Sherlock's face and the overall situation. Mycroft gazed from the phone to his younger brother when he said carefully, "But you possibly knew otherwise."

Sherlock looked up from the phone to John. "I knew you lied about the protection cover," he said intently. John nodded his head then looked away, like the floor was more interesting to watch. Sherlock then peered earnestly at his brother as he asked the one question he needed to be answered.

"Irene Adler is in trouble, isn't she?"


	2. Grab Your Gear

**Sorry it took some time for me to upload Chapter two to the FanFiction network. I had to alter the whole story as I entered a new character, which wasn't going to cast in the original plot until now. Not only that, I no longer have Microsoft Word and so have found it difficult to be able to use a .wps file on the website and had to convert it via other sites to add it to my on-going story. But before I get all technical (almost like a certain character in the story…), here is the chapter that you have waited for.**

Gracie Emz

* * *

Chapter 2 - Grab your Gear

The scarlet sun was slowly rising across the rough terrain of DC, with no unbearable grey clouds in the rose tinted sky or a single drop of rain plummeting to the city ground. Opposite weather to what Sherlock, John and Mycroft were experiencing in the busy capital of England. It was like the two similarly cultured cities were worlds apart from each other, instead of the single, vast ocean that laid between them. However, occupied in a hidden federal building around the Washington area of Virginia State, unknowingly from the functionless family in Baker Street, a silver-haired Special Agent Team Leader was sat at his desk; his crooked glasses perched on the end of his nose, as he signed an immense amount of stacked papers, related to his last completed case. It wasn't very exciting. A Petty Officer died, because his brother thought he should have his rich uncle's inheritance instead, after the Petty Officer in question married his ex fiancé. "Why was money and revenge always the usual motive for a murder?" thought Gibbs, as he continued to scribble down his report of the events.

This was the part the agent detested most about his job. His rough hands twinged in pain, whilst he believed he could no longer write another single letter or word to contribute to this useless piece of document. Gibbs had arrived at the NCIS headquarters early to catch up with his work like he always did every day before Vance, the Director of the agency and his only boss, had a chance to complain. Jethro never really liked Vance after he took the Jenny Sheppard's former job, right after her death. Mainly because Vance's first task was breaking Gibb's trust and splitting his team up, giving them positions situated across the world, whilst he was given a bunch of useless probationary agents with no experience. The work was not exciting or helpful to him at all as they searched petty little crimes. In spite of this, after he found out who was the mole of the Agency, he finally got his whole team back together. And he wasn't going to change it any time soon.

He lightly flicked off his lamp, after he noticed the sun had risen, then went on writing. But after ten minutes, he completed his work, dropped his ball point pen, then gazed out the window intently, thinking what the crazy world would bring to him today, as he relaxed his hands. He glanced over at the clock on his old military watch. 0530 hours. It was still too early to expect any of his four man team to arrive at the open planned bullpen for work. It was also too soon to visit the eccentric Doctor and his talkative assistant in autopsy or to call upon the optimistic Goth Forensic Scientist that he sees as his "adopted daughter" in the lab, as all three were still at home. Once he filed the paperwork he recently finished, he reluctantly decided, as he had no other choice, to dive into the depths of complicated and modern technology, by logging on to his desktop computer, to check for any emergency emails or paperwork mail from his colleagues, before he got his morning coffee from Starbucks.

However, just as he scanned the page on the monitor screen and realised he was sent nothing of any importance, the elevator pinged open, which revealed a tall, thin, short-haired man, carrying a lot of folders in his arms. He walked agitatedly over to his desk opposite Gibbs as he contemplated over his dilemma in his head. He slightly panted under the weight of the thick, filled stationery whilst he tried to balance them on his desk. The moment the files slipped onto the floor, his irritation showed when he hurriedly collected them back up and nearly slammed his work onto the tabletop. Gibbs looked up from the his computer screen.

"Why didn't you use a box, McGee?"

Tim was startled by the sudden sound, which caused him to jump and almost knocked over the folders again. He quickly turned around to see who spoke, only to see Gibbs annoyingly smirking at him from behind his desk. He relaxed a little, though he was still stiff with weariness.

"Sorry, boss. Didn't see you there." He ambled to his computer and started to log on. Gibbs still looked at his youngest agent, questioningly.

"What have I said about apologising, McGee? It's a sign of weakness," said Gibbs, his voice deep and sincere. Silence. McGee still observed his monitor, as he half-heartedly replied a moment later.

"Yes, Boss." Gibbs stood up from his desk and gradually marched over to him to get his attention. However, Tim didn't move his view from the screen. He remained to busy himself as he gathered his thoughts, by searching various articles and reports amongst the recent news relating to previous cases.

"Tim.." His agent still watched his work. "..What is bothering you?"

McGee sighed exasperatingly, whilst he gently rubbed his forehead. He slowly pulled away from the monitor, straightened his stance and met Gibb's glaring gaze.

"Nothing, Boss. Just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night."

"I'm not stupid, McGee. There's something on your mind." Tim closed his eyes, whilst he considered an answer. "I need the advice," he thought, "even though he wouldn't know what to do". He opened his eyes and sighed.

"It's my publisher. My _new _publisher. He wants another book to meet my fan's demands. The thing is, he also wants something new. Something different to happen. But I haven't got any ideas that are significant or impressing to include in the narrative-," babbled Tim. Gibbs shook his head exasperatedly and stomped back to his desk, cutting off McGee in mid-pled. Gibbs sat in his chair and began going through his computer files, finding the documents to send to Vance. He no longer wanted to be involved in Deep Six or whatever it was called. He already had enough trouble from that book, more than it's worth, after a psychopath charged after Abby, to "protect" Timothy and killed two others.

"Just write about us, like you always do."

McGee knew he wasn't getting anywhere with him. He dropped back into his office chair and continued with his work.

* * *

"What's up, McGee? Another crazy girlfriend or did a different dog attack you?"

Tony was in an extremely happy mood later that morning which became obvious as he faintly swaggered into the bullpen from the elevator, late as usual. Fortunately, Gibbs had gone down for his coffee ten minutes previous, which enlarged the Senior Agent's cheerful disposition from the thought of no excessive morning lecture and the daily head slap from his boss. McGee ignored DiNozzo's remark as he sat miserably at his desk, still surging thoughts and ideas across his mind to come to a solution to his seemingly impossible Writer's block. Ziva, who always arrived on time, instead gazed up from her case files and smirked at her work partner.

"Someone got lucky last night," she chuckled softly, "Who's the unlucky lady?" DiNozzo glared back at Ziva from behind his PC, then quickly gave a short, forceful laugh.

"I think you'll find it's none of your business, David," said Tony, dully. The ex Mossad Agent simpered jeeringly at the man smiling opposite her and gracefully sauntered towards him.

"This isn't the Anthony DiNozzo I know. He would usually boast about how many girls he can get in an evening." Tony's eyes wavered from his screen to Ziva as he tried to keep a smile on his face for a moment before he replied with a murmur.

"Yes. Well that was the old Tony. I am much more mature now." Ziva laughed loudly at her partner's words.

"Really? I rather doubt that."

"I don't want to be a "player" anymore. Now that I am… older, I want to focus on a serious relationship. No more mucking around." Ziva looked up from the floor, breathless from her laughter to see DiNozzo's stern face. She nodded at the seriousness in the circumstances and stood firmly in front of his desk.

"Well, good for you Tony," she slowly said, struggling to put the words into English, whilst DiNozzo inspected and sifted through his work, "Was the girl last night…right for you?"

"She seemed nice. Though it was only the first date. I don't want to rush into things yet."

"I'm glad for you," responded David, who was still surprised at the latest news, "That you are taking things into course."

"I'm glad too."

He gently gazed up at Ziva, who was leant lightly on the tabletop with a small smile, and tried to work out what she meant. It caught McGee's agitated awareness, who then looked suspiciously between the two agents. After a moment, DiNozzo shifted his gaze back to his cluttered files and fake coughed into clenched fist awkwardly, whilst David pondered as she marched back to her work. Tony suddenly noticed that Tim was still gazing at him. He turned and smiled to him, which caused McGee to swiftly look back to his keyboard, as DiNozzo expressed his speech mockingly towards his male agent friend, "Enough about me. I'm much more interested in why our little McGeek Elf Lord is ignoring us."

"No time," Gibbs boomed across the room, his coffee in hand as he strode to the edge of the bullpen, "We have a dead Marine waiting for us in Portsmouth."

"Gearing up, boss." All the agents snapped into action. They abandoned their tiresome paperwork, quickly picked up their needed bags and equipment then ran to the bored and awaiting Gibbs before the metal doors of the elevator closed upon them. As the doors closed and the agents panted with the loss of their breath, Gibbs took a swig of coffee and smirked.

"Just another day at work," he thought.

* * *

"How did they die, Duck?"

Gibbs was leaning over Doctor Mallard and the two bodies that was laid in the middle of the parking lot. The rest of the team were occupied. McGee took photographic shots of the crime scene, the blinding bright light that emitted from the digital camera flashed constantly. DiNozzo, who wore his white latex gloves, searched the grounds through rubbish and parked cars for any clues or evidence as to what happened to the two late gentlemen. Ziva spoke to a business woman and her husband, the witnesses of the bodies' unearthing, and wrote notes of any vital information that might help with the case. Palmer stumbled over to Ducky and Jethro with the equipment and the gurney, then knelt down beside the Medical Examiner. He panted inaudibly from the effort of carrying the heavy load, as to not disturb his boss for his work and got on with his own, as he sought out for the liver probe. Ducky gently moved the bodies around as he showed Gibbs his discoveries.

"The Marine's death is obviously caused by blunt force trauma. Deep gash and skull fracture to the back of the head. It was a heavy, large object. No other markings to say otherwise. I am still unsure of the cause for this young fellow over here though. He has stab wounds in his abdomen, however they seem to have missed the vital organs. And he didn't bleed to death as there is the lack of blood or body fluid. I will have to take them back to the lab for a full inquiry."

"Anything else?"

"They both have bruises and cuts to the chest and face, whilst their knuckles are red raw with no signs of scab formation. Possible bone fracture here and there. I would say they both put up quite a struggle."

"Do you think there was an extra person involved?"

"Perhaps. It would explain the abrasions on the wrists and hands, plus the stab wounds. The knife seems to be handled by a left-handed person. The Marine is right-handed, judging by deterioration of the right sided pocket of his jeans."

"Time of death?" Palmer turned up to reluctantly face Gibbs, after he checked the liver probe's temperature reading.

"I would say a few hours ago, Agent Gibbs. Around 0400 hours for the Marine, though the John Doe died half an hour earlier."

"Thanks, Duck." acknowledged Jethro, hesitantly. "Palmer."

Gibbs walked over to Ziva, who had finished jotting notes on her pad.

"What did they see?"

"They were walking past the long stay car park early this morning at 0530 hours after spending the night in local hotel. They had to leave early to capture a flight to Miami, which they have now missed. They got suspicious after they saw the gates weren't locked and went to look inside and came across the bodies. Rung Metro PD at 0545 after trying to resuscitate them."

"Okay. You and McGee can go fetch the CCTV footage."

Ziva left and headed towards Tim, whilst she adjusted her hat from the sun's glare. DiNozzo strolled over to Gibbs, carrying a couple of labeled evidence bags.

"I found these stowed under a car a couple of rows back," He spoke gravely as he held up a clear, cylindrical box containing a clean, pristine knife, "It will probably match the wound, but I doubt we will be able to lift any prints from the handle. However, I found this key near the Marine."

He handed Gibbs the small, delicate key into his white gloved hands.

"It's too tiny to be for any door or window. However, from my experience at Baltimore, though you probably know that already," Gibbs stared at DiNozzo, "…Not that I'm implying anything..." DiNozzo coughed bashfully and bumblingly. "The keys open a set of handcuffs. Though not the type we use."

Gibbs sighed and thrusted the keys hostilely back to Tony.

"They were kidnapped."


	3. Devotion: Author's Note

**Hello everyone. I'm sorry that this is not what you were hoping for, but I thought that as people are frequently asking me to update, I should respond somehow to your requests.**

**I do have the next chapter nearly typed ready to be added, but I have a couple of problems and delays for the reason that I haven't put it up in the past few months:**

**1. I have a strong case of Writer's block for the story. I know where I want this to go, but I have no means on how to put it into words. Due to the lack of ideas and the time quickly flying by from the warm summer to the icy, cold winters, I had lost inspiration at one point and started writing another story called Starry-Eyed Lockie, which is currently still in progress if you check out my profile. **

**2. I am now using my new laptop to write my stories which has the updated version of Windows and Microsoft Word. On my previous desktop computer, I had to use Word Processor, for which I have to say is pretty crap. I lost access to the old PC when my parents redecorated for which I didn't have time to transfer all the documents over to my College Laptop so that also didn't help things. And recently, when I tried to get it working on this contraption, it came up with a weird code and symbols, which took some time to fix.**

**Like I said, I apologise for the huge eight months time delay and hopefully, this story will be updated for real within the next few weeks. I thank you for your patience and keep coming with your reviews and messages as they are great feedback for my work.**

_Gracie Emz_

**UPDATE!**

**The story is coming along well, nearly completed it! I should have it done soon, then I'll get my Beta to check it for me to see it flows well with the rest of the story and for any grammatical areas. I'm just struggling on how and where to end it. It shall replace this recent update by the end of April at the very latest.**

**So check this space frequently!**


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